


The Man in the Cowboy Hat

by vanillafluffy



Category: The Three Investigators | Die drei ??? - Various Authors, The Trixie Belden Mysteries - Julie Campbell Tatham & Kathryn Kenny
Genre: Horses, Mental Disintegration, Mentions of past animal neglect, Old Age, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 15:43:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16705237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillafluffy/pseuds/vanillafluffy
Summary: A sequel to "The Horse in the Pool", which introduced us to Cecil. Trixie finally learns the background of her sweet gray horse.





	The Man in the Cowboy Hat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brumeier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/gifts).



The county fairground is wall-to-wall people and horses. It’s a fairly modest show--mostly locals--not a lot of the big names in California horse people attend, but Jeremy has already run into seven people he knows between the parking lot and Ring One. Not surprising, since he’s lived in the area his whole life, and he’s closer to fifty than he wants to think about.

After bumping into so many old friends of the two-legged variety, someone snatches the hat off his head, and there’s an old four-legged friend.

“Cecil!” exclaims the young woman on the other end of the lead rein. “Stop that! I’m so sorry!”

The gruella drops the hat in the dust and playfully begins lipping his hair. Jeremy laughs. “Pilgrim, you little scamp!”

The young woman has retrieve his hat, but doesn’t seem inclined to return it. She’s eyeing him with a less than friendly expression. “How do you know my horse?”

“Known him since he was foaled…he’s by my stallion, Drop Cloth, six or seven years ago. I’m Jeremy Coltrane. And you are…?”

“Trixie Belden. Can you tell me who you sold him to?” There’s an edge to her voice. She’s a little bit of a thing--she barely comes up to Jeremy’s chin, and he’s only five-eleven. Still, there’s something about the look in Trixie’s wide blue eyes…whatever this is about, she isn’t playing.

“Sell him? I didn’t sell him. Drop Cloth was bred to…what was her name?…Filigree. Nice little mare of Arlan’s. That’s Arlan Pickett…he was a neighbor of mine for many years. He passed away this April.”

“I need to find out who he sold him to.” 

“Arlan wasn’t in his right mind toward the end. He was riddled with cancer, and it went into his brain. I went by to see him a couple weeks before he died, asked about Pilgrim, and he flat out didn’t know where the horse was. I didn’t know if he was stolen, got out of the pasture or if Arlan sold him and just didn’t remember it. Why?”

Wordlessly, she extends his hat. He accepts it, still gazing at her. 

Pilgrim reaches for it, wanting to play tug of war. Unlike most the entrants, he’s not wearing ‘good’ tack--the blue nylon hackamore is a budget model, while on his back is a battered McClellan cavalry saddle, which means it’s probably older than both of them put together. Still, his gray coat and black points have been carefully groomed and someone has taken the time to braid his mane and tail…not a common practice for western horses.

Trixie has pulled out her phone and is tapping on it. “This is what he looked like when I found him,” she says, and Jeremy’s breath catches in his throat. The horse in the picture is all ribs and hip-bones, hollow-eyed and sad-looking.

“I found him penned up inside a tall chain-link fence by an old cannery with nothing to eat but the weeds growing through the cracks in the pavement and no water at all.. I figure he’d been there for at least a week. Poor baby….” She scratches under the throat-latch of his hackamore, and the gruella closes his eyes with an expression of bliss. “Why would your friend do a thing like that?”

“I can’t imagine.” Arlan always treated Pilgrim with affection, more like a big dog than a horse. Pilgrim had returned the kindness by being the most amiable, most willing horse Jeremy had ever seen. “Tell you the truth, I went over there to ask Arlan if I could give Pilgrim a home, afterward. Part of the time, he didn’t know who I was. Part of the time, he was taking about going line dancing. And he was so confused that at one point, he tried to use the bedside commode as a walker.”

“I’m sorry,” she says after a moment. “I hated whoever did that to him. Now I feel sorry for him, too.”

“I’m glad to know Pilgrim has a loving home. It looks like he’s being well taken care of.”

“I’ve been riding for years,” Trixie tells him, “but I’ve never had a horse of my own before. He’s a real sweetheart.”

“You can thank Arlan for that,” Jeremy points out. “He handled the colt from the hour he was born, made sure his manners were good--I never saw him lose patience…whatever ate his brain at the end, it doesn’t take away from all the care he put into training him.”

“He’s perfect, he really is,” Trixie exclaims fervently. “He’s calm, but he isn’t boring. He has so much personality! Don’t you, Cecil?”

“Cecil?” Jeremy is amused. He’ll always think of the gelding as Pilgrim.

“Like Cecil B. DeMille--because he’s mostly shades of gray.” She grins. “I used to be a film student.”

“Well, if you ever need to find him a home, if you ever need another horse, a stud service or anything, give me a call.” He pulls out a business card for ‘Willowcrest Stables’ and hands it to her.

“Thank you, Mr. Coltrane, I’ll--oh gosh, they’re calling our class! Gotta go!”

Before he can offer her a leg up, she’s jumped up to grab the saddle and hauled herself onto the gruella’s back, gathering up the reins and finding the stirrups with ease. It happens so effortlessly that it reassures Jeremy that she does, in fact, know something about horses and isn’t just a horse-struck wanna-be. “It was nice meeting you!” she calls over her shoulder.

“Nice meeting you, too, Trixie. Good luck to you both.”

…

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Thanksgiving!


End file.
